


Mockingbird

by Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Arkham Asylum, Arkham is fucked up, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Human Experimentation, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Poor John, Protective Bruce Wayne, Psychological Trauma, The abuse is only mentioned, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts/pseuds/Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts
Summary: Instead of staying in Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, John Doe is placed under house arrest at Wayne Manor. Given this new chance at recovery, he can build on who he is now, and with some help, discover who he used to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is mostly going to build off of the Vigilante Route and the ending where Bruce retires to have Alfred stay. However, once Dick Grayson is involved I'm going to spin my own version of events but no spoilers yet :D

John managed to get out of Arkham much faster than he had thought he would, considering he had killed three, four, five… At least six or seven people that he was aware of. Leland stuck up for him, vouching for him that he had been off his medications for too long and that he had been manipulated by Dr. Quinzel. Bruce had also vouched, saying that several of those kills had been in self defense. 

He suspected there was a bribe involved too, since Bruce visited at least once every week without fail, even when John could tell he was injured and tired. Of course, Bruce had a very strong sense of justice, but John took pride in being a grey area in a world Bruce tended to see as wholly black or white. A bigger clue was that instead of being placed in a halfway house, John was sent directly to Wayne Manor with a cuff on his ankle that would keep track of where he was. If he left the premises before the cuff was taken off at the end of his probationary period, he would have to go back to Arkham for the rest of his life. John agreed that it was more than fair. Bummer he couldn’t go into the Batcave, though, for fear of setting off the cuff. Legally, the Batcave didn’t exist.

Bruce, of course, refused to admit to bribery but never directly said he hadn’t done it. John took it as an admission.

Alfred wasn’t unhappy to take on John as another ward, but he wasn’t thrilled either. They had an understanding though.

The first night John spent in the new room that was all his own, all alone, he couldn’t sleep. He had taken his medicine but it was making his mouth dry and the feeling wasn’t helped no matter how much water he drank. He had that problem in Arkham too, but then he could always just start up screaming and howling and eventually someone would sedate him. That wasn’t an option now, so John stayed as quiet as he could and decided to walk around his room aimlessly in the hopes that he would tire himself out. 

Eventually he woke up in the connected bathroom, curled up on the plush mat in front of the bathtub. He didn’t remember laying down there to sleep, but knew he must have.

Alfred bid him an awkward “Good Morning.” as he set down a tray of eggs, toast, bacon, and coffee on the bathroom counter.

“No tea?” John asked with a high pitched giggle, pulling himself up to sit on the toilet seat.

Alfred sighed, catching on to the joke and choosing to brush past it. “I can start some tea if you would prefer it.”

“No, coffee’s good.” John quickly backtracked. “Sorry, I can’t always tell if I’m being offensive or not until someone calls me out on it.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, but said he understood. John decided he’d count it as an accomplishment so long as Alfred could tolerate him. 

John spent his first day wandering the Manor and getting quite lost. Why anyone would need a house as wide as a supermarket and four times as tall, he couldn’t imagine. He was happy with just a shack. The Manor was just… Too much. He ended up getting lost and having a small panic attack in one of the broom closets on his second day there, before an exhausted looking Bruce found him and lead him back to his own room.

“Just breathe. You’re okay.” Bruce guided, though they both knew it wasn’t that easy.

John had a solid minute of sobbing his inhales and manic cackling through his exhales. When he was a bit more stable he couldn’t help but be hyperaware of how unsettling he must have looked to Bruce. Laughing and crying separately were fine but doing both at once made others uncomfortable, he’d come to notice. He couldn’t help it though. He laughed when he was uncomfortable just as hard as he laughed when he was happy. Leland said it was something called the pseudobulbar affect, but he didn't want to seem like he was using his disorders as excuses so he didn’t explain it. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It happens.”

“Not to _you._ ” John pointed out bitterly.

“No, I just used to dress up like a bat at night to beat up criminals.” Bruce deadpanned, drawing a tired laugh from John.

“Used to?” John asked, when he ran the sentence through his head again.

“I had to make a choice between the job and family.” Bruce sighed deeply. “I think it was the right choice though.”

“I bet that was a hell of a decision.” John sympathized. 

“It was, but the Commissioner and Tiffany are working together and they’ve been doing an excellent job of picking up where Batman left off. I can still help from the sidelines too, just as Bruce. Gotham might always need a hero but it doesn’t have to be Batman.”

John nodded, understanding. “Alfred threatened to quit if you didn’t, huh?” 

Bruce wished John would understand a little less. It always surprised him how perceptive the other man was. 

 

 

 

Bruce’s sleep schedule never really recovered from being Batman, so he tended to be the most awake at night. He spent the time going through paperwork he had usually neglected before but now had far too much time for. This was the first real time he spent in the mansion at night, so he didn’t know if there had always been someone wandering the halls humming carnival music. Bruce briefly, though not seriously, entertained the thought that maybe he was being haunted by clowns.

But it was just John, also unable to sleep and having grown bored with his own room. Bruce followed his ears to find John, barefoot and shirtless with his hands in his pockets walking on top of the long table of the more public dining room, staring up at the high ceiling. Of course, standing on tables wasn’t model behavior but Alfred was asleep so Bruce took off his slippers and joined his friend. He looked up at the ceiling too, but couldn't figure out what John was so focused on.

“There's a camera in the chandelier.” John explained, having caught onto Bruce’s confusion.

“I know. I have to host social events here sometimes so it’s for the best if something happens police can look at the video logs.”

“Like a convenience store.” John nodded thoughtfully. “Why is it on now? I see the light.”

“That’s so nobody walks in and steals something while everyone’s asleep.”

“We aren’t asleep.” John pointed out, then his brow scrunched. “I could be asleep. Do you think we’re having the same dream? I must be having your dream, mine aren’t ever this calm.” 

“No, we aren’t asleep. We should be, but if we’re up then we’re up.”

John grunted thoughtfully, then resumed the tune he’d been humming before, some sort of bouncier sounding waltz that would be more at home to hear in a circus than in a quiet manor. He surprised Bruce by grabbing his hands, leading him in a lazy but oddly graceful rendition of some sort of basic ballroom dance. Bruce just let it happen, even when John tried to twirl him and just ended up smacking Bruce in the forehead with his arm due to how much taller Bruce was. Bruce didn’t mind and twirled John instead, taking the lead while John just kept up his provision of music.

"If you absolutely must dance on tabletops," Alfred suggested when bringing Bruce the mail late in the morning after. "Please do wear socks. Polished mahogany is difficult to maintain." His tone was stern, but Bruce could tell the butler was hiding his amusement.

Later, Bruce found the video log of them dancing and saved it to his personal phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put a tag in for past sexual abuse but its only mentioned. It does not go into detail.

John adjusted, slowly but steadily. He behaved as well as he could, took his medicine when he remembered(Either Bruce or Alfred always made sure to remind him.), And avoided things that he knew would trigger him. New stimuli, of course, had to be navigated blindly but he wasn’t alone anymore. The voices were there, but quiet. His impulses were getting easier to manage. If he still laughed inappropriately or behaved in an odd way, Bruce didn’t hold it against him and John hardly cared what strangers thought.

The news and tabloids were getting fun, though. At some point a picture of him through the library window started circling around. It was fun to watch people on the internet try to figure out what he was doing there. Very few got it right that he was under a very generous house arrest. Many were assuming that Bruce was housing him for less than innocent reasons, the most hilarious of which was a theory that he was a live-in prostitute like in Pretty Woman. 

John had to watch Pretty Woman after that. It was a fun movie. He liked it most of it. The leading lady was interesting and the main man had a sense of humor hidden under all the social propriety. He didn’t watch movies often, but he was easily immersed in this one. Immersed enough he had to pause the one scene where the bald guy got too handsy so he could walk around in circles and remind himself that movies weren’t real and the funny lady wasn’t actually being molested. He knew that, but it was still uncomfortable to see even if it wasn’t at all graphic. He still wound up throwing a chair.

Bruce came up to his room a few minutes later, having heard the crash. He took a look at the paused movie, the overturned chair, and John sitting wedged between the wall and his bed biting into his own hand.

“Did you take your meds?” Bruce asked.

John started to nod but stopped to pull himself out of his hiding spot to check the pill caddy on his desk. He’d taken them this morning but forgot the ones for lunchtime. He swallowed them dry and absently started to pull his hair, forcing himself to breathe slow.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay John.” Bruce assured, looking back at the screen. “This part always makes me uncomfortable too.”

John giggled, glad to know he wasn’t the only one even though he knew he did overreact. Bruce took the remote and skipped forward a bit to play from the part where the male lead comes in to punch the bald guy, and sat with John to watch the rest. The ending of the movie and sitting with Bruce turned out to be worth the moment of anger and disgust.

“That was a… strong reaction.” Bruce said when the movie was over. He left it as an open statement, letting it be known he wanted to know why but wouldn’t force John to tell him.

“Arkham isn’t a nice place, Bruce.” 

“Were you-? No, sorry. That’s none of my business, is it?” Bruce cut himself off.

“Not me.” John drew an invisible map of Arkham with his finger. “The men and women had separated wings but solitary was toward the middle.” He gestured a small circle. “If I was stuck in solitary at night I could hear…” John trailed off and put his face in his hands, muffling his distressed giggling. He quickly regained his composure. “The first few times I called for somebody to help whoever was screaming but it was the guards who were doing it!”

Bruce felt a spark of rage in his chest, resolving to look into Arkham employee backgrounds. He couldn’t stand for something so terrible happening right under his nose. He’d put people in Arkham himself, as Batman, and the new information hit him with a wave of guilt. Well, he was done with Batman and the fact he was helping fund Arkham meant he could change it for the better.

“I’m so sorry.” Bruce said softly, knowing it wasn’t enough.

John enjoyed television. In Arkham it was his his only real way to get to know the outside. Although, now that he _was_ outside, he was starting to realize that a lot of it, even some of the news, was utter bullshit. Plus it was a bit annoying that if he was watching something that looked realistic enough that sometimes his brain couldn’t immediately tell a solid difference. He suddenly couldn’t help but wonder what the pills were doing if he was so affected by a simple movie.

He told Bruce as much. No secrets. He took pinkie swears very seriously.

“Your medications can’t fix everything. They’re just supposed to… give you a stronger chance to just be yourself.” Bruce explained, though he only really partially knew. 

“Quoting Leland, huh?” John chuckled dryly.

Bruce was getting better at telling which laughs were happy and which ones weren’t. In this case the sound was nervous and tired. John still hadn’t been sleeping much, Bruce could see it. When John did sleep, it was hardly ever in his bed. More often then not Alfred or Bruce would find John on the floor somewhere, or if the wind was right, curled up in a chair. Bruce couldn’t say anything, nocturnal as he was, but it was concerning him. He’d heard somewhere that mental health relied a lot on a stable sleeping schedule.

“Buddy?” John asked.

Bruce realized he had been quiet a moment too long and now John’s tired green eyes were looking into him with something akin to worry.

“I’m just thinking.” Said Bruce, “Do you want to set up an appointment for Dr. Leland to come see you? I could probably get her to see you as an outpatient.”

A lot of emotions crossed over John’s face; hurt, anger, thoughtfulness, and finally acceptance. Bruce was sure he had said the wrong thing, but then John sighed and agreed.

“Fine. But only if it’s her.”

 

 

 

“It’s nice to see you, John. You look happier than when we last spoke.” Leland greeted as she sat down in the study next to the bookshelf.

“Hey, Doc!” John was already in a desk chair across from her, curled up in it sideways and pushing off the desk with his hand to spin himself. “What’s it been? Forty years?”

“It’s been barely over a month. How have you settled?”

“Settled fine… I’m bored though. I can’t go anywhere. Or wear fun socks.” To illustrate his point he lifted his cuffed ankle and scoffed at it.

“I understand it must be difficult to have to wear that but at least you aren’t in a cell anymore.”

John blew a raspberry. “Sure I am. It’s just that this cell is bigger and has intact wallpaper. There’s even cameras everywhere. The company is better, though. I like Bruce and Alfred.”

John continued on rambling, from the fact he felt trapped by the cuff to eventually going off on a rant about how he could watch cartoons but anything with real actors got into his head. He talked about how much he wanted to tear his own face off sometimes because the lights in the manor didn’t have that fluorescent buzzing sound that Arkham did. 

Leland listened through it all, just as she always did. She suggested raising the subject to Bruce about the lights, and steered him away from thinking of self-harm as much even though he was only thinking of it passively. As always, she asked if John had been keeping up with his medications, and for the first time he was able to honestly say that he had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin #1, Dick Grayson will be coming in next chapter and he's bringing some plot with him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the middle of trying to move and my job is bullshit but at least theres fanfiction.

“Master Bruce, you said you were through with this!” Alfred’s voice broke through John’s already restless dozing. “Let the police and Tiffany handle it.”

John got out of the soft rocking chair he had been in to get a closer listen. His natural curiosity made it hard for him not to be nosy.

“I can’t.” Came Bruce’s voice, lowered by the modulator in the suit. “They need me.”

 _“Bruce,”_ Alfred warned, his tone just a touch threatening.

“There are kids involved.” Bruce explained, and John peered around the top of the stairs to see Bruce prying Alfred’s fingers from his cape. “I can’t just do nothing.”

“Very well.” Alfred sighed heavily, and let go. He looked up the stairs to see John watching, and Alfred’s brow furrowed. He seemed to mull something over in his head before coming to a decision. “John come with me. Bruce will need someone who knows how to care for the injuries he will no doubt have when he returns, so you will have to learn.”

“Alfred…” 

“No. Bruce. I told you before I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself.” Alfred scolded, and left the room. 

John, feeling for the first time like an intruder in the Manor only said “Be careful.” before following Alfred.

Bruce felt torn, but kept his line of communication open just to hear Alfred teaching John first aid. The sound quality wasn‘t the best as it was coming from Alfred’s headset and there was an odd echo since the lesson couldn’t take place in the Batcave.

“It’s good you know how to sew already. Skin and cloth are surprisingly similar… No, you can’t remove bullets with your bare hands… Enlighten me as to why you think an eyelash curler would have any business in a medical kit?… A bandaid works just as well whether it is covered in cartoons or not.”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile, though it was bittersweet knowing that this may be the last time knowing Alfred would be around for a mission. It was fine, though. Alfred deserved to be happy more than anything. If that meant going back to England, then Bruce could live with that. Alfred needed the break. Severance even. 

Bruce cut the volume on his communicator down. He couldn’t afford to be distracted with lives on the line. It was a hostage situation; Some punk deciding kidnapping one kid wasn’t enough and just had to ransom the entire orphanage. Normally Bruce would have left it up to Tiffany and the police, but there were bombs involved. 

 

 

 

“Bru~uce?” John called softly.

“I’m afraid he can’t hear you unless you start shouting.” Alfred said, raising a hand to the headset. “If you would like to talk to him I can let you wear it for a while.”

“No. No. I’d rather talk to you.” John waved his hand. “Just making sure he can’t hear me. I overheard part of the argument about him leaving but I don’t get it.”

“What aren’t you understanding?” Alfred asked, deciding to allow questions.

“I already figured out that you threatened to quit butlering if Bruce can’t quit Batmaning. I just don’t understand why.”

Alfred frowned and clicked a button on the headset near his jaw to turn the microphone off. “Because I have raised Bruce for a long time. Most of his life. I have no children of my own, but I have come to see Bruce as a son. For that reason I can’t see him hurt so badly. Almost every night he would come home bleeding out, broken, or both. I can’t-”

“Stop.” John cut him off with a grimace. “If he’s your son then that's all the more reason for you to stay. Especially _because_ he’s getting hurt so badly.”

“There is also the matter of other people taking his example of donning a mask, but using theirs to do harm.”

“Shut up.” John snarled, startling Alfred into silence for a moment. “Forget the other idiots, they’d do bad things even without Batman. I’m talking about _Bruce._ Who’ll take care of him, if not you?”

“I can’t stay here when-” 

“Fathers don’t leave!” John practically roared, then took a breath to calm himself, chuckling as he did. “He could die without you. Sure, I can help but I don’t have enough practice now and you’ve been pointing out how shaky my hands are for the past hour.”

Alfred was stubborn, but knew the truth of John’s words. He had already had to save Bruce’s life several times before. It made him sick to see Bruce hurt, of course, but that was inevitable with vigilante work. Deep down he knew Bruce couldn’t quit fighting either, not as long as he was able to stand. Not until Gotham was safe, which Alfred knew would never happen. 

“Bruce gives everything he is for the people around him. Sometimes even strangers.” John said softly, breaking through Alfred’s thoughts, serious and level in a way he rarely ever was. “How dare you be so selfish. Hasn’t he taught you better?”

 

 

 

 

The bombs had gone off. The building came down, luckily knocking out the instigator. Bruce did his best to get all of the children and staff out to safety. One of the children in particular caught his attention. 

The kid couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but was the only thing holding part of a shattered beam off of a smaller child. He was bleeding over his face from somewhere in his dark hair, but still had a determined look on his face even though he was shaking. Bruce was quick to help, lifting the beam the rest of the way and tossing it away. 

“Get outside.” Bruce ordered.

“I want to help too!” The boy said.

“You can help by getting the little one out with you.” Bruce reasoned, noticing the smaller child was unconscious but still breathing.

“Okay… Thanks Mr. Batman!” The boy picked the littler one up, struggling a second before getting a better grip and running with them the best that he could.

Bruce nodded and resumed looking for other survivors. They were lucky this time. Not a single casualty. In Gotham, that was a miracle in itself. He saw to it that the people involved were safe, the children especially, then found the teenager he’d talked to briefly.

“You were very brave.” Bruce told him. “What’s your name?”

“Dick, sir. Dick Grayson.” Dick answered, looking toward the ambulance that had pulled up. “Is everybody gonna be okay?”

“Of course. The paramedics are just here to take care of any injuries but everyone is alive.”

“Good. Thanks Mr. Batman.”

“Thank _you,_ Dick. I’m sure you saved a life today. Be proud of that.” Bruce said, thinking of the beam Dick had held up. Sure he wasn’t strong enough to move it completely, but the attempt had still kept the smaller child from being crushed.

“I was so scared…” Dick admitted. “I didn’t know what to do. I just heard Jeanie scream and I… I couldn’t do it by myself.”

“You did enough.” Bruce assured, placing a hand on the boys head in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “Sometimes all it takes is to try.”

Dick surprised Bruce with a hug, and Bruce had to shift quickly so Dick wouldn’t hurt himself on any sharp parts of the suit. He let Dick cry, knowing it was sorely needed, before leaving him to talk to Commissioner Gordon. After that he went home, afraid Alfred would be gone by the time he arrived.

But Alfred was still there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had 6 panic attacks in the span of 5 days because moving is stressful as all hell. Got my room set up in the new place but its not anywhere close to being familiar yet and I keep getting the feeling of "I want to go home." even though this is home now and the old place is empty. 
> 
> Also I have to figure out how to walk to work from an entirely different direction and with a pulled muscle in my hip.

John was the one to treat Bruce for the night, under Alfred’s supervision of course. There were only minor burns and bruises from debris; The batsuit had done its job and vastly lessened the impact of the explosion. The explosion itself hadn’t been as bad as it could have been but acts of terrorism were never good. 

Bruce left the suit and the batmobile in the cave, leaving the med bay alone to go upstairs into the actual mansion. He found Alfred and John in the lower lounge, surrounded in various bits of medicinal objects from painkillers and gauze to cauterizers and staplers. Alfred was organizing things back into the kits while John seemed to be dozing or simply zoning out. He perked right up once he saw Bruce.

“Well you’re upright and breathing normally. That’s a good sign.” Alfred observed aloud.

“I’ve had worse.” Bruce shruged, and pulled of the undershirt he’d been wearing in the suit to reveal a decently sized burn on his back, surrounded in flowering bruises.

The main thing John had to do was smother raw red skin in a gooey salve that was so annoying to have on his hands that he had to put gloves on to be able to focus. That, and it was hard enough to keep his mind on one track in the first place even without having his bare hands on Bruce’s skin. _On anyone’s skin,_ he amended to himself mentally. He decided to only voice his texture-aversion, not wanting to make something that should be clinical into something awkward. He’d been making very good progress on not being awkward, he hoped.

“You are aware that Bruce is the one injured?” Alfred pointed out. “You could stand to discomfort yourself a little for the sake of saving time.”

“Come on, Al.” Bruce defended. “It isn’t that bad. Taking a second to put gloves on won’t make any difference.”

“Doctors wear gloves.” John pitched in, though Bruce could read a hint of shame in his face.

“Slimy hands are gross.” Bruce said lightly, already taking care of the burns he could reach. He was proud to see his agreeance put a small smile back on John’s face.

Alfred sighed and might have rolled his eyes if he didn’t pride himself on professionalism. Instead he just made sure John didn’t miss anything, then left the boys in favor of going to bed. 

“So…” John began once they were alone, having found himself unable to look away from Bruce’s bare torso. He waved his hand loosely toward the newish blemish among several, much older scars. “Did you get hit by a car… that was on fire?”

Bruce chuckled at the visual, and John felt a very warm sensation of what he could only assume was pride at having gotten a laugh out of his best friend.

“Close. It was a building on fire. Well, part of a wall.” Bruce corrected, recounting the events of the night in detail as John sat and listened, enraptured. 

 

 

 

Over the next week and a half, Bruce’s mind kept circling back to the kid he had met in the orphanage. The orphanage itself was being rebuilt but in the meantime the children had been dispersed over several foster homes. It wasn’t difficult to track down Dick Grayson. Surprisingly easy in fact; Bruce had found an article on the boy and the death of his parents, all three of them had been circus acrobats. 

There had been an accident involving spilled gunpowder and one of the canons. A fire had quickly spread during the act. The parents had thought quickly and swung a five-year-old Dick into the audience where he had broken an arm but had been saved from the fire. The parents were not so lucky, both lost. Strangely, Bruce noted, the father’s body had not been recovered. 

After reading the article over again, Bruce didn’t think it was actually an accident but there was no way for him to find the culprit ten years after the fact. The harder part was to find out which foster house Dick had been sent to. He wasn’t sure why, but Bruce had felt a sort of connection with the child; Determination, a will to do good, and an orphan besides. Bruce could relate and hoped maybe he could be to Dick what Alfred was to him. 

It was up to Dick, of course.

Even if Dick agreed, there was the issue of housing John. Bruce knew John, though having some affinity for violence when off of his medication, was nothing but sweet and docile while he continued to take them. Alfred said that line of thought proved Bruce to be biased. Bruce did not tell John yet, since no definitive decision had been made. Bruce thought it best to make sure that it would be a yes on all accounts before raising an idea to John and then not going through with it.

“So you’re giving Mr. Doe the last word in something that will very highly affect your life.” Alfred pointed out after listening to Bruce ramble, somehow managing to use a judgemental tone hidden under a polite one. “He’s rubbing off on you. I’ve never heard you speak so much in one sitting.”

They were in the private kitchen as opposed to the larger one downstairs, enjoying the sunlight filtering through frosted windows and the pleasant sound of light rain that accompanied it. John was not in the room. Bruce wasn’t actually sure where he was but experience taught him that he would most likely be in the library, rocking himself in a soft chair and looking at a book but daydreaming instead of actually reading it. John had a better imagination than most of the books in Wayne manor. That or he was actually dreaming, having accidentally rocked himself to sleep.

“This is serious, Alfred. I’m serious.” Bruce huffed.

“Yes. Always serious.” Alfred chuckled as he set out preparations to make lunch.

He’d been in an oddly good mood lately. Bruce hoped it was because after teaching John what he knew, Alfred had dropped his responsibility of being anything other than Bruce’s butler and honorary family. His tremors were gone. He hadn’t gotten stress-sick in a while. Alfred had changed his mind and decided to stay on the condition he’d be left out of any direct bat-business. Bruce still didn’t know why or if he had been bluffing when he first threatened to leave, but Bruce was grateful either way.

“It might not work out. I mean, what sort of family services court is going to let a child live under the same roof as someone in house arrest… I’m kidding myself…” Bruce sighed, then winced at his unintentional pun. “Okay, he might be rubbing off a little.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I moved. I got extremely sick. I'm still sick but it's manageable. Have a chapter!
> 
> *Also Dick is a mix of white and native american because I'm a mix of white and native american and I can project if I feel like it. His mother was Lower Creek/Seminole.

_Waynes always get what they want._

John had said that to Bruce the same day that they met in Arkham. Bruce wasn’t sure if he was happy or not that it was turning out to be a truer statement than it had any right to be. Given the fact he was housing someone with a criminal record, he had expected it to be much harder to speak with an adoption agent about Dick. But here he was, already getting an interview with the agent, while a social worker was prowling the Manor in search of red flags.

“Why are you wanting to adopt, Mr. Wayne?” Asked a short, mouse-ish looking man in a suit. His name was Fred Hamishson.

“I think it’s time I start a family.” Bruce answered simply with a shrug.

“Without a wife?”

“Yes. Most of the women I date only seem interested in my money.” Bruce sighed. Though his reputation as a playboy was mostly for show, the statement was truer than he wanted it to be. “If the right person comes along then that’s wonderful but I feel like trying to force a connection to save time isn’t going to be any sort of stable.”

“Yes…” Hamishson scribbled something quickly in his notebook. “And on the subject of stability, you are housing a former mental patient known for violent outbursts and several accounts of _accidental_ manslaughter.”

“John was off of his meds and going through withdrawals when that happened. He’s been on a steady schedule and hasn’t had any outbursts since he got here.” Bruce defended.

“Still, you can see why we’re wary.” Hamishson raised a somewhat judgemental brow.

“I’d be concerned if you weren’t.” Bruce conceded, then let out a heavy sigh. He didn’t want to play this card as it seemed too manipulative for his tastes, but it was also true. “I lost my parents when I was eight; I saw them die. I know Dick’s been through something similar but while I had Alfred to pick me up again, Dick’s only had an orphanage. Maybe a few foster parents? That’s not personal enough. A kid needs something, _someone_ constant in their life to depend on. I want to be that.”

Hamishson, though clearly still skeptical, did seem at least a little touched by the small speech as he scribbled something else down. “Well, since Dick is a teenager you’ll have to talk to him. It will ultimately be his decision and if he agrees then we will be making several random visits to check on how things are working out.” 

“I understand.” Bruce said with a smile. “I still need to have a talk with Alfred to know for sure.” 

Bruce already talked to Alfred and meant John, but didn’t want to bring more attention than necessary to the former Arkham patient. He knew he would be on thin ice for a while if everything worked out.

 

 

 

“Nobody adopts teenagers.” Dick scoffed as soon as Bruce stepped into the room. “Wouldn’t you rather get littler, cuter kid?”

Now that there was better light and the child wasn't covered in soot and dust, Bruce could see Dick more clearly. He had brown eyes and wavy dark hair that fell into his eyes if he leaned forward. His skin was considerably tanned, suggesting he may have had a parent or grandparent of color. He was thin and lanky, either from genetics or a lack of nutrition which was worrying. 

Dick was seated on a wide window sill, arms crossed and knees pulled up. Curled in on himself. Closed off. Defensive. It was a vast difference from the scared but determined child that had been in the burning orphanage. Bruce could understand, in a way. Dick had been in the system for about ten years and still hadn’t found a forever family. He didn’t know Bruce past what he may or may not know from news coverage, and had no reason to trust the billionaire. 

“I’m not a fan of changing diapers.” Bruce said lightly, hoping humor was the right way to go about things.

Dick let a sharp puff of air out through his nose. It wasn’t a laugh, but it was close. “So… what? You want somebody to shuck all the housework on?”

“No.” Bruce shook his head. “I have a butler for that.”

“Then what do you want _me_ for?” Dick looked up at Bruce, making eye contact for the first time since Bruce had been in the batsuit. 

“I want to give you a home.”

 _”Why?”_ The distrust was clear in Dick’s face as his brow furrowed, his eyes widened, and his lip curled. 

“Because you’re a good kid.” Bruce’s eyes flickered toward the door of the room, behind which a social worker was waiting. Bruce lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be heard through the door. “Not just anyone would hold a burning beam off of someone else when they could more easily save themself.”

Dick’s mood shifted suddenly as he realised just who he was talking to. Not even the police and paramedics had seen that. They knew he had helped, sure, but not how.

“Batman?” Dick whispered.

Bruce held a finger to his lips, jerked a thumb at the door, but then nodded. He didn’t think the social worker could hear the whisper, but there was a habit of discretion he would need to enforce now that Dick knew. It may not have been his best decision, letting a kid know, but it also wasn’t anywhere near his worst decision either.

Dick just nodded and quickly rethought everything he had said thus far. He uncurled, sitting up on the sill and uncrossing his arms. 

“Let me think about it.” Dick decided.

Bruce could accept that.

 

 

 

John, when told of the possible adoption, just stared for a moment before falling into a fit of giggles and wringing his hands. 

“Oh, Bruce, I don’t think I’d be a good influence. I’m no good with kids. Or maybe I am? I’ve never been around kids enough to know.” John started pacing in a circle. “Not that I can remember, anyway.” 

Bruce reached out to grab John’s shoulder, slowing the pacing enough for John to look at him.

“It’ll be okay.” Bruce assured. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I just want to know how you would feel with a new person in the house.”

“I don’t know.” John admitted quickly. “But I guess we can find out? I mean, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I can adjust.” John nodded, a bit frantically and more to himself than anything. “It’ll be fine.” He repeated.

“Social workers are going to show up sometimes to check on him.” Bruce elaborated once John was calm again.

“Oh god damn it.” John huffed, but still agreed to Bruce going through with the adoption.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sick and this is short as hell but progress is progress.

It took a mountain of paperwork and a few more interviews, but within a month Dick was walking through the front door of Wayne Manor with Alfred. He had a rolling suitcase and a sandwich the butler had bought him on the way, having declared the child too skinny in his professional opinion as a caretaker. 

Bruce was there to greet them, taking Dick on a tour of the Manor while Alfred took the suitcase upstairs to what would be the teenager’s room. It was quick but Dick was already overwhelmed by the time they reached the third floor.

“Isn’t this… a lot?” Dick asked, trying to be polite while taking in all of the grandeur.

“You don’t like it?” Bruce asked, and took another look around. 

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Dick struggled for a moment before finding the right words. “There's only like… three or four people living here. Right? I don’t know, it’s just weird having so much space for just a few…” 

Now that it had been brought to his attention, Bruce could see how five floors and over fifty unused rooms could be a bit excessive and unnecessary. 

“More room to run around!” Came John’s cheerful but unexpected voice as he stuck his head out of a doorway that lead to one of several offices. “Kids like that, right? I do. Sometimes I just get these random bursts of energy and I just gotta take a sprint around that one hall that goes all the way around the library in kind of an oval shape.”

Dick was stunned into silent staring as John prattled on, and for a moment Bruce was worried. He had made sure before going through with the adoption that Dick was fully aware of the fact John would be present. Maybe he hadn’t really been as prepared as he’d thought. 

John noticed too, trailing off awkwardly and scratching the back of his head. “Uh, sorry. I’m gonna…” John chuckled dryly, pointing toward the stairs before passing Bruce and Dick to descend them quickly.

Dick still hadn’t said anything, but wore a disappointed frown on his face before shaking it off. “I’m just used to less. Don’t worry about it… He seems nice.”

“He is.” Bruce confirmed with a smile. “He didn’t scare you, did he? He’s not dangerous.” 

“No.” Dick shrugged, “I just didn’t expect to see… Nevermind. Where’s my room? I’m tired.”

Bruce didn’t feel like it would be right to point out that it was barely three in the afternoon. Dick had had a busy day, after all. He took Dick up another floor to a bedroom where Alfred was unpacking the suitcase into a dresser. Dick took over the task, insisting he prefer to do it himself. Alfred smiled and left him to it, Bruce following suit and closing the door softly behind him.

“He doesn’t like it here.” Bruce worried aloud when they were out of earshot. 

“Oh stop fretting. It’s been less than an hour. We will all get used to each other.” Alfred reasoned. “Although I will insist we all eat dinner together now. Since you’ve actually decided to go through with building a family, you should act like it.”

“We will. Tomorrow.” Bruce decided. “I think there’s been enough going on today.” 

 

 

 

Predictably, John was in the library when Bruce went looking for him sometime after midnight. He had a toy carousel that Bruce had given him cradled to his chest, tinkling out some nameless circus tune. His brow was furrowed as he listened, staring into space and chewing his fingers.

Bruce sat down next to him, not initiating touch but neither did he pull away as John leaned against his shoulder.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” John said quietly after taking his knuckle out of his mouth and wiping saliva on the couch. 

Bruce decided to ignore the gross action. “What’s on your mind?”

“The kid.” John answered simply. “He’s familiar. I’ve seen him somewhere, I know. I can’t remember where…” The music stopped, and John turned the carousel over to wind the key up again.

“He was on the news a while ago. Maybe that’s it?” 

“Maybe…” John conceded, but he didn’t sound like he fully believed that. "I think I scared him. Sorry about that..."

"Don't worry. He'll come around." Bruce assured. "We all just need some time and then everything will feel normal again."

John scoffed, _"Normal..."_ and Bruce mentally scolded himself for using that word in particular.

They both mutually and silently agreed not to dwell on it.

Bruce draped his arm over John’s shoulders, letting John lean into him further as he seemed to need the comfort. He stayed with John until he fell asleep, then slowly pulled himself away. He took the carousel out of John’s hands to place it safely on an end table, winding it again for good measure and draping a green throw blanket over his friend. On an impulse, he took out his phone to take a quick picture. He texted it to John, then bid him a silent goodnight, then left for the cave to start a late patrol.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a promotion but then the computer system at work got fucked up so I might be getting paid a week or two late. Who knows. We'll see.
> 
> Anyway sorry this took so long.

After the Batman seemed to make a comeback, large crime in Gotham quieted down. It was still there, of course, hiding beneath the surface layer of the constant petty theft and drug deals. Those small things didn't really require Batman, but he still sent Tiffany a message to let her know where he'd found a small smuggling ring as well as a suspected meth lab. She responded that she was chasing down a stolen car at the time but would relay the information to Gordon.

Coming home and leaving the suit in the cave, Bruce noticed that John was awake and waiting for him at the entrance to the Batcave. Given the cuff wouldn't allow for the cave itself, Bruce was appreciative that John was doing the most he could. Concern was etched heavily into the lines of John's face, making him look older than he probably was. The medical kit was already laid out in front of the fireplace, which was sporting mostly burned out embers instead of any substantial flames.

"Nothing happened tonight." Bruce assured before John could ask. "I'm alright." 

The worry melted instantly from John's face and posture, a sigh of relief leaving him. "Good because anything worse than a papercut and I was going to go wake up Alfred."

Bruce let out a reserved chuckle at that, and John beamed. 

"I should have a communicator." John decided as he went to pick up all of the medical supplies he'd taken out, putting them back in their respective kits. He shoved the kits under the couch. It wasn't the most sanitary place for them, but it was accessible and as close to the cave as he could keep them. "That way you can tell me if you need all this or not and when you're coming back."

"You'd be up all night listening?" 

"I'm up most nights anyway. I don't like my dreams." John shrugged. "It could be fun to get to talk to you at work since I don't have much else to do."

John didn't elaborate on his dreams and Bruce didn't feel that it was his place to ask, so he let the comment go.

 

When it's time for dinner the next night, Dick helps Alfred in the kitchen. He knows he doesn't have to, but he insists. Alfred doesn't need assistance, but understands a boy of Dick's background probably finds it comforting to bring habits with him to create a sense of familiarity in his new surroundings. He also appreciates the help, besides.

Dick already knew, somewhat, how to cook. Alfred listened as the boy described simple meals he had made himself, a bit internally horrified as most of what he is hearing are foods that come from a box or a can.

"Master Grayson, I'm afraid that mashed potatoes that come from dried flakes are absolute rubbish. Let's see how _real_ potatoes turn out." Alfred says with a warm smile.

Dick, to his credit, is more than happy to take the tool given to him and mash away at the already cut and boiled potatoes. It's busywork, mostly, but it keeps the boy occupied while Alfred gets the rest done.

Dick also insisted on setting the table, stating that he had almost always done so. Alfred made the mental note to bring up the subject of an allowance to Bruce, if Dick was going to keep up housework just for the sake of keeping busy.

The peace was interrupted as John wandered into the dining room, having smelled the cooking food. Dick startled and lost his grip on the plate he'd been holding. He made a grab at it in an effort to catch it, but it hit the hardwood floor and shattered before he could.

"Oh, bother." Alfred sighed. "I'll get the broom." 

Dick was not as unphased, tears pooling in his eyes though he did try very hard to hold them back. He hadn't meant to break the dish. He hadn't even been in the Manor for a week and he had already messed up. He didn't want to go back into foster care. The orphanage was gone but even if it wasn't, almost no one wanted a teenager. 

"Hey?" John asked, knowing exactly what Dick's sightless stare and shaking hands may be a prelude too. He'd experienced the signs firsthand. 

"I didn't mean to." Dick said quickly, his voice tight.

"It's okay, little bird! Nobody's mad. Alfred went to go get the broom." John assured, moving to put a hand on Dick's back in the hopes of grounding him.

Dick flinched away violently, and John retracted his hand just as fast. Dick started actively crying and John realized quickly that the soft approach Bruce used with him was not going to work with the boy. 

"Bruce is rich. Look! He can just buy another one." In a mix of quick thinking and impulse, John grabbed a plate from the stack and threw it down. 

Bruce walked in at that exact moment. He looked at the broken glass on the floor, to Dick's tear stricken face, and John's nervous grin. Bruce crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow.

"Should I ask?"

"Oh, we just had a little… accident." John winked. 

"Okay…?" Bruce prompted, hoping for any actual details.

"I br-" Dick began, only to be cut off quickly.

"You know my hands have a bit of a tremor. Plates had just been washed. They were slippery." John explained, "Clumsy me, y'know?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. He could tell that wasn't the full story. What's more, he could tell John knew that Bruce knew. He could guess at what happened, but decided to let it go for now. He had no doubt that John would tell him the truth later. They had pinkie swore on honesty, after all, even if that honesty had to be delayed due to situation.

Alfred was back with the broom in no time, having missed the near-panic Dick had gone through, but fully feeling the tension in the room. 

"You're all so dramatic." Alfred muttered as he swept up the glass.

Dinner was a lovely single course of mashed potatoes, seasoned asparagus, and steak. By the time Alfred left to retrieve desert, lime sherbet, Dick had significantly calmed. John had only eaten half of his dinner, but was in a good mood. Bruce was also overall having a good day.

John did find him later in the study after Dick had gone to bed to explain what had actually happened.

"He was close to having a panic attack. A bad one, I could tell… I also thought that maybe he'd be less afraid of me if I covered for him." John admitted. 

"He'll get used to you." Bruce encouraged. "He'll get used to all of us."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John has a therapy and I need a nap.

John was having his bi-weekly appointment with Dr. Leland in his bedroom. Usually they would take their visits in a lounge or the library. Now with a child in the house and likely to listen in, confidentiality required a more private setting. Leland also hoped it would be a more comfortable setting.

The room was cluttered with clothing and a few possessions carried over from Arkham, as well as some new things Bruce had given him; The musical toy carousel, a plush hyena, several puzzle and fidget toys, a ridiculously expensive-looking digital camera, and a not very warm but extremely soft blanket with card suits on it.

"You must be sleeping better with that." Leland started, gesturing toward the blanket.

"Oh, I don't know about better. Just more often." John corrected, taking a seat on his bed on top of the blanket and pulling the hyena into his laugh. It had a button on its paw that would make it laugh, but John resisted the urge to press it. Now was the time to be serious. "The dreams are getting weirder."

Leland flipped a page in her clipboard, reading an old note quickly. "You said before that you thought they might be memories."

"They can't be now. There's been more that I know haven't happened." John frowned, though a nervous chuckle escaped him. "Before the dreams were just about being a failing comedian, or a clown, or just some schmuck getting into the wrong crowd at a bad time. Falling into chemicals…" He trailed off, running one hand through his hair, green despite never dying it. He looked at his other hand grasping the hyena, white as paper. "Maybe that last one is real, for me to look the way I do."

"What are they like now?" Leland prompted.

"Like…" John thought about it, trying to find the right words. "Scary, but not while I'm in them. I only get scared after I wake up. In the dreams I'm the Joker, but not like before. I wasn't working with Batman. I was working against him. I hurt a lot of people. I hurt him, just to get his attention. I'd kill people just so he would come and find me and then we'd fight and in the moment, in the dream, it was beautiful. Like a dance, almost." John explained, gesturing wildly with the hand that had been i his hair. "But then I wake up and I'm scared of that other me. I don't want to be that person."

"It seems fixated on Batman, you said." Leland made a note. "You met him the first time you were released. You had that picture when you came back." She pointed to the corkboard on the wall across from the door. Several pictures, old and new, had been pinned up. The Selfie with Batman was proudly displayed in the center. "Do you think the fixation is because you haven't gotten the chance to see him while in house arrest?"

John _had_ seen Batman plenty of times while under house arrest. Batman was a part of Bruce, after all, but Leland didn't know that. Few people did. John would never out his friend like that, so he shrugged.

"Maybe." John conceded, not about to lie to his psychiatrist but also unable to answer completely honestly.

"This might tie into a subconscious feeling of abandonment." Leland mused aloud. John didn't think that was the case, but the doctor continued. "Do you want to hurt Batman?"

"No!" John answered quickly. "They're just dreams, you know?"

"I know. But dreams are a way of organizing memories and sometimes do factor into real-world urges. You _do_ have a history of violence."

"I've been getting better…" John defended quietly.

"You have." Leland agreed. "Just humor these questions, okay? They're for your benefit. You need to analyze yourself. I'm just guiding you."

"I understand." John nodded. "No, I do not want to hurt Batman."

"Do you want Batman to hurt you?" Leland continued.

John wanted to say no to that too, but suddenly the thought of Bruce in the suit, but without his mask, caringly holding the Joker down by his throat, was far more appealing than it had any right to be. John was unprepared for the strange gymnastics his heart decided to try doing. 

_Oh_

"Wow, Doc. Getting a bit personal aren't we?" John tried deflecting.

Leland, of course being a trained professional, knew that was enough of an answer.

"Well, from what I'm seeing… I think your dreams may be a byproduct of you repressing your self destructive tendencies - Which, I'm proud of you for but I am sorry that it's causing you nightmares. - and a crush on Batman." Leland explained. "Does that sound about right?"

John didn't know how to respond to that other than to just fall into giggles. 

 

 

Bruce may not have thought the whole adoption thing through as much as he should have. He wouldn't go back on it, of course. Dick was part of his family now, as small as it was, and that wasn't changing unless Dick decided that this wasn't what he wanted. But Bruce hadn't accounted for being in a mix of foster care and an orphanage would affect a fifteen year old boy. Bruce had been immediately taken in by Alfred and never moved to vastly different surroundings.

Dick, to his credit, was adjusting relatively quickly. He counted it as a blessing that he wouldn't have to switch schools again. Bruce had offered him an actual money allowance based on his report cards for said school, saying he'd double it if he could get all of his grades up to solid Bs or higher. Dick had even started to get over his apparent fear of John much faster than expected. After the Plate Incident, the two were fast friends. 

"Now that the trapeze artist and the clown are getting along, will we be needing a bear on a unicycle?" Alfred ribbed quietly as he and Bruce watched John help Dick with his chemistry homework.

Alfred hadn't meant anything by it, but he had accidentally given Bruce the perfect clue he needed. John had said, even though he couldn't remember anything before Arkham, that Dick was familiar to him. John, who thrived on laughter, sang carnival music to himself almost every night for comfort, and had taken refuge in a funhouse once upon a time had to have been part of a circus before he'd lost his memories. 

"Alfred, you're a genius." Bruce clapped him on the shoulder and left to do some research on his computer.

"I know." Alfred said with a proud smile.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo can I just quit my job and become a supervillain?

John, as usual, was awake well past midnight. Bruce was out, so John had the headset Alfred had given him on his head. It was silent, but Bruce had checked in a few minutes prior to let John know that so far he was alright. John was glad that he didn't have to worry. 

So far.

He worried anyway. That was part of having friends, he guessed. 

John went into the smaller kitchen to start a pot of coffee when he heard a shuffling. He started the pot before investigating, finding Dick awake and wandering the halls.

"Couldn't sleep?" John asked.

"I heard you humming." Dick answered.

"Oh. Yeah. I didn't realise I was being loud… Sorry, little bird."

"It's okay." Dick shrugged, and followed John back into the kitchen.

John set out two mugs. He had intended to drink a whole pot of coffee himself, but didn't mind sharing since he had company. He didn't consider the repercussions of giving a fifteen-year-old coffee after midnight on a school night. He didn't really care. He knew enough to know a teenager would stay awake or go back to sleep of their own volition anyway. Coffee wasn't likely to be any more disruptive to sleep than having a cell phone within reach.

One mug was a garish shade of green and covered in clown faces, the other was striped with vibrant shades of red and yellow. John knew Dick's favorite color was red. John did _not_ know why he knew this but assumed that he was just so observant that he had intuited it at some point.

Dick pointed to the headset on John, then to his own ear with a lifted brow. It was a wordless question, but easy to understand. Dick wanted to know if John was on the phone but not wanting to interrupt if the answer was yes.

"Just keeping an ear out for Bruce." John chuckled. He knew Dick knew about Batman. "All quiet so far." John checked to make sure his microphone was off before continuing on, "Between you and me, I think he's snooping in somebody's business."

"Does he do that a lot?" Dick asked, keeping his voice lowered but still loud enough to be heard over the gurgling hiss of the coffee pot.

"When he needs to. He's like a detective. It's not all fistfights and batarangs." John mused, "Though I do like the batarangs quite a bit. I had one! But then… The doctors wouldn't let me keep it. They put all the weapons I had on me in a lockbox. Said they'd give them back if I was released again but never did."

The coffee pot clicked, signalling that it was finished. John poured his mug about halfway full, then filled the leftover space with sugar and caramel flavored cream. Dick did the same, but with considerably less of the additives.

"Did you ask for it back?" Dick asked, pulling out his chair to sit.

"I did!" John huffed, and chuckled bitterly. He sat down as well. "The orderly said he had no idea what I was talking about."

"That sucks." Dick took a sip of his coffee, frowned at it, and set it down on the table. 

"Made it wrong?" John guessed.

"Just used to instant." Dick shrugged.

"Expensive stuff tastes weird." John agreed, "At least it's not filtered through a sock." He cackled briefly, but cut himself off as Bruce's voice came through on the earpiece. John quickly turned the microphone back on. "Right. I'll meet you down in the lounge… Stitches? Damn my hands shake… No, I can do it…" He waved to Dick to go back to his room. "Of course the kid's in bed. It's a school night."

Dick understood and made his way back to where he was supposed to be while John poured out his unfinished coffee into his own clown-infested cup. The striped cup was rinsed out and hung back up in its place before John went downstairs, taking two at a time for the first set and then just sliding down the banister of the second. Sure, it was childish and dangerous, but it was also faster.

Bruce had only been snooping for part of the night. He had been trying to track down the source of a trafficking ring for the past few nights and thought he had finally found a lead. In truth, he had merely found a trap. He'd been shot. The suit was nearly bulletproof, but the kevlar had to be thinner at the joints to allow for movement. Because of this when a stray bullet grazed the crease of his knee it actually did some damage.

"It looks worse than it is." Bruce assured John as he fussed over the wound. "At least the bullet didn't get stuck."

"No, but I think it took a tendon with it as a souvenir." John mumbled, trying to stitch the skin back together as neatly as he could.

"You sound like Alfred." Bruce said with a fond smile.

"Dry snark is a side-effect of taking care of you, Bruce. I'm just embracing it."

 

After John went to bed, Bruce returned to the batcave to use the more specialized computer there. Alfred had given him a hunch and he needed to learn all that he could from the possible shred of the past.

The Flying Graysons were a part of Haly's Circus. Bruce already knew this from the brief search he had done before adopting Dick, but this time he was looking for any sign of John. Since he didn't know John's real name, (And even John didn't know aside from having a vague feeling that it definitely started with a J and that John felt right.) Bruce just had to read every article he could find. John finding Dick familiar did narrow things down to the five specific years after Dick had been born up to when he left the Circus.

Written news was no help; Bruce didn't have a name to keep an eye out for. So he watched performance videos taken from cell phones. Most of them had bad lighting, were partially blocked by audience members in front, or were so grainy it was hard to make out more than motion. Between eyestrain and bad audio, it took no time at all for a headache to start.

Finally, Bruce found something; A video titled _"Newest Flying Grayson's Shocking Debut!"_ He clicked it, having to turn the volume down as it was louder than he expected. The camera started out focused on a woman in red and green spandex, a toddler on her hip. She smiled broadly, waving to the audience and prompting her child to do the same. The camera zoomed out, revealing mother and son both perched atop a rise. She set him down next to her, and Bruce noticed that they were tethered together at the waist by a few feet of rope. 

It was odd that the act was just the woman and the child, or more accurately just the woman. The child was hanging onto his mother rather than doing anything on his own but he was squealing with delight at being in the air and the crowd below seemed pleased. Bruce almost clicked away, deciding there was no useful information here, when the child fell. He'd been released from the safety tether. An audible gasp rippled through the crowd and a few people even screamed.

But down on the ground, a clown caught him. And laughed. It was impossible to tell just what the clown looked like under so much facepaint but… 

Bruce _knew_ that laugh.


End file.
